


Celtic challenge of murder ballads, song 1, part 5

by AzureAngel2



Series: “Down in the willow garden”, a series of Orson Krennic vignettes [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 07:44:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10782516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureAngel2/pseuds/AzureAngel2
Summary: Summary: Kicked out of an educational programme for gifted children & being forced to live with his mother again, a youngster is hateful of his surroundings. He also hates the Force and farming.Time frame of Story 5: The story takes place about 3 years before TPM (35 BBY).Planet of choice: LexrulDisclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company





	Celtic challenge of murder ballads, song 1, part 5

_**Story 5:** **“** Tear-dimmed eyes **”** _

 

Lexrul is your official birth place. The woman, who gave life to you, wanted to visit her former religious community in the last weeks of her pregnancy. You curse fate for that. Chandrila, where you grew up, would have been more sufficient on your birth certificate. It is a Core World of means.

A flawless pedigree and the names of the right educational institutions on your curriculum vitae are the entrance ticket to the highest society circles. Perhaps even to Coruscant, the seat of government and culture, itself. A place where history is made on a daily basis.

You glare at the grass all around you. The flowers and the busy insects, that tear around on search for nectar, mean nothing to you. You were never a nature lover.

The worst thing about Lexrul though is the amount of religious weirdos it nurses. They grow like fungi all over the place. Especially the oddballs who believe in the Force.

There is no energy field that cares for the balance of good and evil in this galaxy. If there was, your life would be a different affair altogether. For a start, it would have bestowed you with a different set of parents. Not fruits farmers with a weird look on the universe.

A butterfly passes by extremely close to your nose and you try to hit it with the back of your hand.

You always fancied the Anils, your next-door-neighbours. They can be pretty stern, but at least they are devoted to their horde of foster children. Ina is one of those lucky beings.

Thinking of your former babysitter girl still hurts. In her honour, you force yourself to learn restraint. You also try to learn a certain aloofness to protect yourself. Both skills might help you to get back on the Futures Programme, you got expelled from three weeks ago.

Now you are stuck here on Lexrul with the chook, who has no motherly bone in her entire body. She sits half-naked in the grass. Her best friends are with her. Since they have finished their flower dance, the women have formed a circle and go _“Om Shanti Om!”_ in an endless loop.

With your fingers you form a laser blaster and aim at their heads.

“Orson?” A rough voice says behind you.

Of course you know the speaker. She is one of the few women in your life that you respect without questioning.

Obediently, you around to face great-aunt Marjory. “Yes, please?”

The eighty-two year tries to hide her somewhat triumphant smile. She is a lean and wiry creature, the product of working class parents. A set of bird of prey eyes scans you in.

“Misbehaving as usual, do you?” great-aunt Marjory stresses. “Be glad that this is not a real blaster. The summer ritual would have been very short otherwise.”

Nothing seems to escape her attention. Ever.

She is also blessed with an incredible authority. It surrounds her like a cloak.

“Go and take your bad attitude somewhere else!” the old spinster advices you. “Pull out the cabbages instead! Or dig out the potatoes.”

Another thing that you like about great-aunt Marjory is that she makes no attempt to convince you to believe in the Force. She is tight-lipped about this particular subject, when dealing with you.

Suddenly, she leans in closer and hisses. “It would be useless spilling knowledge to a disbeliever like you.”

You blink.

Has she just read your thoughts? This is impossible! You heard fairy-tales of Jedi Knight being able to do that.

She laughs so hard, that tears show up in her wrinkly face. “For somebody with a IQ of 170 you can be extremely stupid, Orson.”

When somebody else would have spoken thus to you, you would have knocked that person to the ground. But coming from great-aunt Marjory this is a recognition of some kind.

You tilt your head a bit, hold in your breath, while you wait for more information from the old spinster.

She tucks her arm into yours, dragging you away from the others. “You think that the Jedi Order are the only Force users in this galaxy? That their way is the only truth?” she asks.

You have no idea what to say. Actually you never thought about followers of the Force so much. You despise their lot, but this is based on your own personal experiences with this community.

Great-aunt Marjory leads you away from the meadow towards the fields, where the men and some children work.

Boys and girls around here typically receive some vocational schooling once a week. During those hours they learn all that there is about the operation and techniques of biological agriculture. This way the family trait is held alive throughout the generations.

Your family only went to Chandrila because its mild climate is much better for apple trees. And because your 'mother', as she calls herself, had one of her weird Force visions. You ask yourself which of her many pills was to blame for that.

Great-aunt Marjory makes a hand gesture towards the working people. “Everything comes from the soil and returns to the soil. We are but a circle within a circle.”

You had hoped for more than just truisms. Simple shibboleth was never your thing really.

The old woman grins at you, her beady eyes alight with mirth. “Soil is a living system alive with trillions of organisms that recycle nutrients and sustain life.”

Scientific explanations are more to your liking.

“Since mankind came to this galaxy, we had to deal with a new alien life form: Midi-chlorians.”

You frown deeply.

“ _Midi-chlorians are a microscopic life form that resides within all living cells._ ”

“Ha, I knew it!” you rejoice. “The Force is a disease.”

She slaps you on the head, looking stern. “Orson! _Without the Midi-chlorians, life could not exist, and we would have no knowledge of the Force. They continually speak to us, telling us the will of the Force. When you learn to quiet your mind, you'll hear them speaking to you._ ”

Glaring at her, you rub the back of your skull. “It is a bad sign to hear voices, auntie!”

“Argh!” she complaints. “You do not really listen, do you, Orson? This is not about you and your twisted teen feelings. The Force is so much greater than you. Then me. Then any of us.”

Now she sounds like the chook that you are stuck with. And why? Because of the curtsy of intergalactic child custody laws. Your old man at least never talks to you if it isn't necessary. He was never a talkative person.

“Stop wailing, Orson!” Great-aunt Marjory snaps. “You are to blame that you lost the right to continue your studies. Less partying and gambling would have done the trick. But what you did to that girl...”

As if heart-breaking was a crime punishable by law. It is not your fault she freaked out when you told her it was over. You were not the one who pushed her out of that window. She did that all to herself.

“Girls are not like underpants, Orson! They have feelings, too, you know.”

This you would like to believe, but it is even difficult for you to grasp the concept that they have a brain.

“You are seriously flawed, young man.” The old spinster takes you by the shoulders and looks you hard in the eyes. “A psychopath in the making.”

“Ho, auntie!” You try your best to reign your anger. “There is no reason giving me names.”

“Says the person who judges others harshly all the time and who lacks of mercy.” Her eyes narrow. “Compassion is also a foreign notion to you, Orson Callan Krennic.”

There is only another person in this galaxy who ever called you thus. There is a black hole in your heart where her sisterly love once shone brightly.

“You know what, I still have an old guitar in my room. I want you to have it. Perhaps not all is lost yet. You are a decent musician and not a bad singer either. Make something of it!”

You cannot help to grin like an idiot.

It has been a while since you played an instrument, but all is better than working in the fields, being forced among children and having to listen to Force fanatics.

Great-aunt Marjory sighs. “You think like a Sith. They also divide the universe in black and white only.”

You are not keen on asking what a Sith is. It is undoubtedly somebody who is spreading non-sense about a certain energy field that enables life without the help of science.

While you walk side by side with Great-aunt Marjory she mutters, “How we manage the soil and microbial life determines not only the health and vitality of the food but the health of the society in which we live.”

You feel no need to comment on her words. It is easy to accept that you are rotten to the core. As long as it gets you away from Lexrul again, all will be fine.

_“To yonder scaffold high”_ , you mutter when the two of you depart from one another.

 

**Translation from the Chandrilan rural dialect into Basic:**  
_chook_ = 1. a _hen_ or _chicken_ , 2. informal for a woman, especially a more mature one  
_shibboleth_ = _disambiguation_

**Author's Note:**

> Sources:  
> The song “Down in the willow garden”, the version of Loreena McKennitt  
> A bow to Ben Mendelsohn for staring in the movie “The Year My Voice Broke” (1987)  
> Several quotes from Qui-Gon Jinn on the Force and Midi-chlorians  
> Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki  
> Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia


End file.
